Living with a cat is like dating a musician.  When you want his attention he’s not available.  When you are engaged in something other than his needs, he’s all over you.  

I always thought of cats as ambivalent sunbeam whores whom you might pet on

occasion.  

Then we got Stan.  

He likes to fight.  He leaves mouse centric recreations of the Passion of the Christ on our doorstep.  His mournful meows can wake you from the most peaceful of slumbers.  The vet clinic has a ‘file’ on him.  If he could write he’d be the next Hemingway.

We are besotted with him.

We’re not sure, but we suspect that Stan is the product of inbreeding.  His mom only had the one kitten.  The litter of Stan!  So, he’s been an only child for some time.  His initial reaction to the new addition was more positive than expected.  There didn’t seem to be any overt resentment of his new baby brother.

Their relationship has soured in the last few months.  The baby used to be a warm blob that Stan would nap beside on my lap.  Nowadays, the kid is like a strip club patron who’s had too much to drink and keeps grabbin’ at the girls.  

Stan has recently instituted a self imposed restraining order.  There seems to be an invisible two foot barrier between him and the kid.  I feel no need to push them into a relationship.  He’s welcome to keep his distance.   I’ll do whatever Stan wants as long as he lets us keep the baby.